


Shore

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Shipping words [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 07:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17219288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: The texture of the sand isn’t right under his feet, too clumpy and grainy and when he takes a sample between his fingers, too sticky.  It’s not like the shore back home with sands as far as the eye could see, fine underfoot and so warm under the sun italmostburns the toes.





	Shore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miriya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriya/gifts).



> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> Beyold! An aimless ramble spawned from a prompt!

The texture of the sand isn’t right under his feet, too clumpy and grainy and when he takes a sample between his fingers, too sticky.  It’s not like the shore back home with sands as far as the eye can see, fine underfoot and so warm under the sun it _almost_ burns the toes.

He wonders what it’s like now, if there’s still a free beauty about it, so sprawling and limitless compared to the densely packed trees and the grid layout of town.  Does the sea still sing to the wandering soul?  Are there birds still cresting the air currents above and on the lookout for easy meals as the fishing boats come in?  Or has it been trampled and razed and remade by an Imperial march, the gateway to open waters and prize territory for troopers both flesh and metal?  Are the underwater caves still intact, will he find Selena’s name engraved in one?  Or have they collapsed under the weight of machines and the tender loving care of the explosives Niflheim is so fond of?

What of the Scourge, has it reached that haven yet?  Will some weary soul go there one day to rest and recharge only to find the sands black with inexplicable decay, daemons lying in wait underneath?  His Ma hasn’t mentioned any such changes in her letters yet, but then she never could bring herself to the line between land and shore after Selena’s death, knowing her little raft would never have the chance to pit itself against Leviathan’s might, her bright kite never to say hello to Ramuh again.  Maybe she doesn’t know, maybe she hasn’t heard word yet, maybe she doesn’t _want_ to hear, determined the whole island is cursed and a slight to the gods with the destruction of nature in favour of technology.  Maybe she doesn’t want to worry him –

But no, Libertus hasn’t heard anything of the sort, either, and he has several eyes and ears back home.

A glass in his face, disrupting his view of the vast blue beyond and he flinches back from it without thought.  Then _actively_ leans away from it a moment later when he registers the eye-popping green of the liquid it holds, ice cubes clinking merrily as Cor wiggles the glass in encouragement, one solitary brow hiking towards his hairline when Nyx wrinkles his nose in distrust and disgust.

“Trying to poison me already?”

“You look like you could use a drink,” Cor replies and shoves it at his face again, into his hand when he cautiously reaches up to take it.

“Still doesn’t answer if you’re tryin’ to off me so soon into our vacation time, y’know.”  He never would have pegged Cor as _pale_ before coming here, but compared to the locals he’s almost as pale and sickly as the rest of Insomnia and Nyx has never noticed, too used to them day in and day out and haunting his dreams sometimes, too.

But he’ll tan up nicely if he keeps the shorts on and nothing else, the strong line of him from shoulder to shin stretched out by the surf, soaking in the rays that’re good for the skin and soul as his Ma used to say, true or not.  He watches Cor now as he sacrifices some water in favour of gouging a space for his glass in the sand rather than simply hold it like any sane person would and Nyx wonders, not for the first time, if Cor’s lost every single one of his marbles.

“You are a strange man, Cor Leonis.”

“Would you rather I be your typical Insomnian office worker?  Maybe one of the harried ones on the train?”

_“Perish the thought.”_

“Then bite your tongue and drink up.”

“But –”

A sigh, and Cor levering up on an elbow, sweeping his shades up to fix him with a steely glare that has him wanting to apologise even though he’s done nothing wrong.  For once!  “I walked to the Quay and back again to get these drinks and you never noticed.  You’ve hardly moved a muscle since you plonked your ass down and you’re usually all but bouncing off the goddamn walls.  Now, the whole point of us being here is to get away from stress, not swamp ourselves in it – don’t give me that look, you clench up tighter than Clarus does when he’s constipated.  I notice these things.”  A kiss to the hand Cor lifts in his own and, yeah, it’s in a fist and Nyx hadn’t even felt it.  Is it that obvious a tell all the time?  “Now, you can either sip at that drink and bitch about the locals butchering flavour just to make the ingredients list look interesting _or_ we can ditch this entire fiasco and I can hand your ass to you at every boardgame they stock here.”

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“Ah,” Cor says, all coeurl grin and bright eyes that have Nyx wondering if he should start running, “but I’m _your_ dick.  Still have the marks on my ass to prove it.”

He… has absolutely no comeback to that.

And the drink, when he musters up the guts to try it, is fucking awful.  Too much sugar and not enough substance, much to Cor’s sadistic glee.

Bastard.


End file.
